Echo
by Prairie Blossom
Summary: After the rise of the Berlin Wall, Prussia finds himself in a state of isolation. A Freudian slip earns him a unique relationship with a tropical man, but Cuba can't help but wonder how long it will last. Pruba.


_**AN**_**: Hello all my loyal fans, plus a few others who might happen to stumble across this page. This fic is part of a trade with Doodlebugg. She is writing me a fic with my OTP, so I am returning the courtesy. Oddly enough, after a bit of researching and imagining I can say that I now ship them, too. Funny how these things work out, _ja_?**

**This will be a three-part fic, of which this is part one. Reviews would be much appreciated, especially if they contain constructive criticism.**

**If you have a minute after reading this, I would also really appreciate it if you would visit my profile and vote in my poll to tell me which one of these men you would prefer to see on top. I'm still a bit undecided.**

**And finally, I can claim no ownership over the characters presented here. Such is the way of fanfic writers...**

**To the fans of _The Chaperone_: I am so, _so_ sorry I haven't updated in forever. These last few months have been pretty hard on me, and this next chapter is _long_. All I can say is that I'm adding more and more to it every day, and I'll try to get it out as soon as possible.**

**To the fans of _Silverfish_: Again, I apologize that this story wasn't updated recently. Unfortunately, due to some particular circumstances between myself and my co-writer that I don't quite have the liberty to say, I can't promise that this one will be updated anytime soon. I really am sorry 'bout this.**

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**Echo**

**Prairie Blossom**

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It was pure circumstance that brought them together.

After the wall went up, Prussia's contact with the world beyond Soviet reach was limited at best. Even when it came to his own brother, all that Russia would allow were forlorn looks cast across a too-wide conference table, and Prussia knew that even this small chance would be taken away if he did not submit entirely to the might of communism.

His relations inside of the Soviet Union and its satellite states were also subpar. Russia was, of course, a "must avoid" at all times, and by extension so were his sisters. Hungary shot him scathing glances at every opportunity, somehow blaming him for her own deplorable condition. He tried not to let that bother him; he figured it was her only way to cope with her immense losses, but if he were to be honest he would admit that the abhorrence in her glare stung something uncomfortably inside him. Poland was still bitter from the war, and understandably so. He tried to relate to the Asian Nations that Russia brought into the Soviet Union, but he found that they had nothing in common with him and he was wasting his time. The only ones that seemed genuinely willing to accept him were the Baltics, a notion that he despised vehemently. He was a Nation of pride, even under Soviet control, and he loathed the very concept that he would stoop so low as to make friends with a bunch of quivering, spineless kiss-ups to the Eastern Superpower. No, Prussia was better off alone. In fact, he was simply _awesome _alone, and he did not need anybody else at all.

That was what he told himself until he was walking up the front steps of a sun-bleached shack in a part of the world that he had never even considered he would one day visit. In his hand were the files that Russia had given him, his only legitimate excuse to be there, but any excuse was a good excuse to leave Eastern Europe at this point. He wore long sleeves and pants and covered his head with a hat despite the stifling heat and humidity. After all, albinism and direct sunlight did not go together very well. Still, he was the personification of a Nation _and its people_, and people sought out friendship, confidants, socialization, like bees sought out flowers to drink from. If this "Cuba" person was the only one between him and a lonesome life of abandonment and gloom, then _verdammt_, he was _not _going to screw this up.

He knocked on the door, and seven seconds later a man opened it. Cuba, as Prussia presumed he was, had a deep tan and a heavy physique. His hair was in dreadlocks tied back behind his head and there was stubble on his chin underneath a wide but natural scowl. His clothes were simple: an orange shirt with a tropical floral print and khaki shorts, no socks or shoes. The island Nation gave the ex-kingdom's full uniform a once-over and raised a thick eyebrow. "You got a death wish, wearing that outside in this weather?"

Prussia scoffed, and then smirked, tugging at his collar. "Why not let me in so I can shed a few layers?"

Cuba chuckled and obliged, showing his guest into the living room. The interior of the shack looked as plain as the outside; Prussia could only see a shabby living room and a kitchen area. Judging from the size of the house from the outside view, Prussia knew that there was barely any space left for a bedroom and _maybe _a lavatory attached to it on the other side of the one other door at the back of the house. The wallpaper was plain and peeling off the top of the walls in some places, and the floor creaked with every couple of steps that the heavyset man made. Prussia shrugged off his jacket and handed it to the Caribbean Nation. "Living the fancy life, are you?" he sarcastically voiced his thoughts.

Cuba rolled his eyes, sloppily folding the jacket and tossing it over a chair at the dining table. "Well we can't _all_ have lived in castles, _compañero_."

"True, that is reserved for the most awesome among us," Prussia laughed, and to his mild surprise Cuba actually chortled as well.

"So you must be the legendary East Germany I've heard so much about." The larger man turned his back for a moment to go to his refrigerator, opening it and shuffling through its contents.

The albino guest sighed and flopped down on the only sofa, a pale greenish-blue couch with two seats and a loose spring jutting out the side. "Legendary, I am. East Germany, not when I don't have to be. The name's Prussia, don't try to wear it out. Because that's impossible."

"Well, excuse me for not knowing," Cuba grumbled as his hand closed around what he was rummaging for. "Aha!"

Prussia turned to look in the kitchen. "What?"

"Found it," was all the other replied as he opened the freezer to remove something else, closing the doors with a tap from his elbow. "Ever had rum ice cream before?" he asked, showing off a sleek bottle and a tub of the frozen treat.

Twin ruby-red eyes lit up at the offer, and a wide, toothy grin spread all the way across the Prussian's face. "_Ja_, now you're talkin' a good time!" he exclaimed as he pulled off his hat and started to kick off his shoes while Cuba took two glasses out of a cupboard, scooped ice cream into them, and topped them off with alcohol and spoon in each. "So, Cuba, you seem like a half-decent guy: not held back by some kind of leash, but not batshit insane. What's your excuse for being a Communist?"

"I need an excuse?" Cuba asked, lips slightly pursed and eyes narrowing a fraction. Still, he walked back into the living room and handed Prussia one of the glassed, albeit it was the one with less ice cream.

"_Ja_, why would you be, otherwise?" White boney fingers picked up the spoon buried deep in the glass, carrying on it a white glob tinted amber by the drink. Prussia opened his mouth and stuck the utensil inside, and his features lit up instantly at the flavour of sweet vanilla and the slightest heat of alcohol warming his sinuses.

The tanned man stayed quiet for a minute, letting his guest enjoy the first taste while he chose his words carefully. "Hey," he finally said as the other Nation was digging in for a second bite, "Listen, I know how it is with you and Russia right now. I was in your shoes just a few years back, only it was that American bastard breathing down my neck. But economic reasons aside, things got better for me once I kicked his star-spangled _nalgas _off my island. I'm not going to say that there aren't times that I wish I had more money or better international relations, 'cause there are. But it was my decision to make of my own free will, and I won't go back on that." Finished with his speech, the larger Nation turned his head to his companion, pending judgement with the smallest amount of apprehension.

"I take it back, you are a complete _lunatic_!" the albino cackled. Cuba clenched the spoon in his hand so hard that it threatened to bend in half, but before he could open his mouth to shout, Prussia held up a finger as if to say _'Hold on, wait until I'm done laughing my ass off, _so he bit his lip and forced himself to be patient for a few more seconds until the other Nation found his composure. "Heh, but you're also sorta awesome, 'cause you just became living proof that I am going to make it outta here one day! Kesesese!"

"_¿Qué?_" Cuba was unsure if he was more confused or offended. "How'd I do that?"

Prussia bounded in his seat, "If that wannabe poser America the Almost-Awesome couldn't keep someone like you, there's no _way_ that Russia the Not-Awesome-At-All can hold down _Das Königreich Preußen_! Of course, _I _knew that already, but you are the reason that every single one of those other losers should believe that too."

Cuba saw through the ruse easily, staring at Prussia with raised brows. Even if the other Nation was causing him to lose brain cells at an alarming rate, he did find something about it—what's the right word?—_charming? Now there's a word I haven't used in a while, _he thought.

In whatever case, a sudden raise in the volume of Prussia's voice brought Cuba's attention back. "I have made a decision. From now on, I am your big brother in awesome, and you will refer to me as such!"

Blink. "Big brother?"

"In _awesome_!"

Chocolate eyes fell away from the European and back to the still full glass. With a little smile, Cuba picked up his spoon and scraped a slightly melted portion of the ice cream from the side of the glass and ate it, which did little to quell the heated rouge tint that had dusted across his face. "You really have no sense of personal boundaries, do you?" he asked.

Prussia shook his head with a wide grin. "_Nein_! None whatsoever!"

They both laughed, and it was truly a good experience considering how neither of them had laughed this easily in a long time. Who else was there to laugh with? "So _if _you do get back your independence, 'big bro,' what are your plans? Are you going to go back to the days of crushing other Nations with your 'awesomeness?' Taking Europe by storm and building a new castle the size of my whole island?"

"Tempting, but hell no!" Prussia scoffed as he shoved another spoonful of ice cream down his throat. "I'm goin' into retirement early! I've got this awesome plan, you see. I'll shrug all my political power and Nation jobs and all that crap to West, who'll be so delighted to have his _bruder _back that he won't care. And just like that," he snapped his fingers, "I'm free to do whatever I want and go wherever I feel like for the rest of my awesomely awesome existence. And you can bet that it'll have nothing to do with Communist pansies, no offense."

"Some taken," Cuba grumbled, though there was no real bite behind it. "You sound like you're counting chickens."

"What are you going on abou—" A crinkle formed on the bridge of Prussia's nose, and his eyes narrowed. "Oh, _'before they hatch'_. You must think you're a real hoot, don't ya'?"

A nonchalant shrug. "I've told some good jokes in my day."

Prussia huffed and slouched forward a bit, glaring. "Look, all I need to explain to the likes of you is that it _is _going to happen. If you want to roll your eyes and call me crazy, that's your business."

"Maybe, maybe not." Actually, Cuba was leaning to the 'maybe-not' side, having a little more conviction in Russia's immense power and influence than the optimistic ramblings of the satellite state. "But the fact remains that you are a communist Nation _right now_."

"A mere wrinkle in the epic tale that is my life story," Prussia waved the comment off.

"I would like to hear the rest of it, sometime," Cuba replied. He paused, half-smiling as his gaze slipped momentarily to his glass. "It has been _quite _a few years since I last had a houseguest."

The words hung between them for a few seconds before Prussia sighed. "I hear ya'. It's been a while since I _was _a guest."

A thick fingernail absently sketched the broad leaves of a royal palm in the misty condensation that had settled on the exterior of the cup and their owner glanced back up. "This might be the start of a beautiful friendship, bro."

Prussia cackled. "It'd be more awesome if there were some extra benefits with that."

"Benefits?"

Maybe it was the alcohol that allowed Prussia to loosen the guard he kept on his tongue. Maybe it was his five-metres speaking for him, eager at the prospect of having a potential partner in the same room. Or maybe Prussia was just enjoying a real conversation a little too much after so long without one. But regardless, his thoughts burst out unchecked, only for Prussia to regret them once the vibrations his voice cast out into the air reached his sorry ears: "Ah you know, the kind of benefits where we pound each other into your mattress."

The room went deathly quiet, and for a moment Prussia thought for sure that he had indeed managed to mess up his one opportunity—his one _chance_—to escape the isolated box that had become his life because of a stupidly un-awesome Freudian slip. He was ready to stand up, gather his effects (plus the bottle of rum; he would need it more than the '_compañero_' would, anyway) and high-tail it back to his walled-off side of the Fatherland with one more Nation's name to add to the list of people who hate his guts.

But, with a slow but ever-expanding grin, and a certain fire in his eye that seemed light-years away from the anger Prussia had seen for years in the faces of his other 'comrades,' Cuba said something that changed all that. Something that made both of them put down their dessert with a soft clunk on the wood floor and walk single-file into the shack's bedroom. What was left of Prussia's uniform was littered on the floor, and Cuba's clothes followed only seconds later. Then the walls were filled with the sounds of skin smacking on skin, and the smell of musk wafted in the air, mingling with the voices of two men panting and groaning and screeching in both Spanish and German. Once the dust had settled, they would chuckle as they rested in their unexpected but much needed satisfaction and deliberate the details of a plan to convince Russia to make the East German representative a long-term envoy between Moscow and Havana.

And it all began with two words that would echo forever in Prussia's mind.

"Why not?"

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_To be continued..._

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Translations:

_Verdammt_—German: "Damn it"

_Compañero_—Spanish: "Comrade"

_Ja_—German: "Yes"

_Nalgas_—Spanish: "Buttocks"

_¿Qué?_—Spanish: "What?"

_Das Königreich Preußen_—German: The Kingdom of Prussia

_Nein_—German: "No"

_Bruder_—German: "Brother"


End file.
